


Oh Lord, Who Made Us This Way?

by BeesKnees



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Always a Girl!Finnick, F/F, genderbent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fianna Odair is radiant, the small sun of their little world.</p><p>(Always-a-girl Finnick.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Lord, Who Made Us This Way?

Annie picks out her plain green dress and puts that on. It's the same dress that she wore to last year's Reaping, but she sewed a little bit of lace to the bottom and the sleeves, so she think it looks nice enough. She puts on her shoes, white and flat. There's a small hole in the heel of the left shoe, which she can feel even through her sock, but no one else will be able to tell.

(Besides, no one is going to be looking at her today. She had found out just last week that she isn't going into the Hunger Games. She never will. She's a Career washed out of Career training. She'll finish up, graduate from that into real life when she turns 18. But she's been told she doesn't have the temperament. Her precision is neat and clean. But her teachers have seen through her. She has the sharp mind, they say, but not the heart – not the gut of a victor.

Her secret, even greater than the reasons for her failure, is that she's relieved. Is it so bad that she doesn't have the fierceness that allows a person to kill easily?

She thinks that's okay.)

She checks in, nurses her bleeding thumb while she gathers with the other Career girls. They're dressed more ostentatiously, bright glares of color, as much gold as they can work into their wardrobes. They quiet, just for a moment, when they see her. The truth is that none of them will probably go into the Hunger Games either, but they have another year for their fate to be decided. They haven't been ruled out right even if they're nearing 18 as well.

They squeeze her, almost apologetically, and then let her into their tight circle. 

Their topic is the same as it always is. 

Fianna Odair.

The golden standard by which they all live. The girls around Annie theorize about what Fianna will be wearing for the Reaping and talk about who Fianna was supposedly with the last time she was in the Capitol – a young game maker, someone up and coming. Annie forgets his name, although she thinks fleetingly of birds. 

Their escort taps on the microphone, trying to gather their attention. She doesn't deign to clear her throat, but neither do they tear themselves away from their conversations. Not for her. 

It isn't until Fianna Odair herself appears that the crowd becomes riveted, in tune with what's happening on the stage. She wears a slinky dress of molten gold that hugs her body just past her hips. It plunges low, in between her breasts, revealing the small dip of her belly button. The back – if such a thing can be called that – is even scarcer, curving all the way down to her lower back, all that tanned skin on display. Her hair is down (rarely is it anything else), teased, blown big, with turquoise and purple feathers fanning out of it. Her legs are painted with shimmering paint that fades from blue to a light purple, the designs curving, but made to accentuate how long her legs are. Despite her already impressive height, a pair of shocking blue and black heels are strapped to her feet. (Annie wiggles her toes, feels the hole in her own flat shoes. She feels off balance just watching Fianna.) 

One of the male Careers in the 18-year-old section whistles. Fianna turns toward them, demurely drops into a parody a curtsey (she doesn't have any skirt to do anything with). She winks as she comes back and the crowd laughs, pleased.

Her lips are painted the same dark blue as her shoes. (She's drowning. The thought crests in Annie's head before she can banish it. It's gone an instant later, evaporating. It's a ridiculous notion.) 

Fianna hugs their escort, turns about and hugs Marl – the oldest victor in District Four, who just about raised Fianna – and then takes her place, relinquishing the spotlight.

Their escort begins in earnest then, obviously empowered by Fianna's mere presence. She trills out the customary opening responses, plays the video, and then dips her hand into the bowlful of names, fishing around until her fingers wrap around one. 

“Annie Cresta!” she calls into the microphone. Everyone turns toward her. She has a moment of vertigo. Everyone's expressions look so strange that she can't recognize anyone at first. She's in a sea of strangers, all of them looking like they're about to swallow her whole. Her ears buzz with white noise, and then she thinks, _oh, but she'll volunteer. I won't go at all_. Because they're a Career district and people don't wind up in the arena by accident. Their teachers have chosen an 18-year-old, someone who doesn't have Annie's weak heart, to go already. But no one volunteers – why is no one volunteering? 

“Annie, dear?” their escort calls from the stage, gesturing her forward. (They are a Career district and Peacekeepers don't bring their tributes to the stage. That would be a shame on the district.) 

She doesn't know how she finds the ability to walk, but she puts one foot in front of the other. She ascends the small staircase – and trips on the top step. Time is dragging around her, and she can feel herself start to fall, hands outstretched.

Before she collides with the ground, she's caught. She looks up into the face of Fianna Odair, who is smiling gently down at her. (Her pupils are blown so wide all Annie can see is black.) Time speeds back up, hits Annie harshly. She's on stage after being Reaped for the Hunger Games. Fianna guides her to stand beside their escort. Annie looks out across all the faces looking up at her.

This can't be real.

…

(She is water. She is her tears. Her muscles evaporate, and she doesn't care. She's home. The water is murky, its depths endless. They drown one by one, but Annie doesn't drown, because she isn't Annie anymore. She is endless.)

…

It's only when they scoop her up out of the arena that she starts to shake, that Annie condenses back into the form of Annie and she remembers all the things that Annie has seen: the strange sound Atlas made just before his head was freed from his body, the way he looked for her. The way her ears rang. The way it felt to not have food for days on end. The way it felt when the dam broke and the water rushed about her, wiping out everything in its path. The way their eyes looked when they knew they weren't going to be able to surface again, fingers clawing at the waves. 

She screams and shakes when the doctors came near her. She makes her body as small as possible, as if she can make herself disappear: knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them, head pressed low. (She is water.) 

“Annie,” someone says gently. She peers up cautiously. 

Fianna. 

Fianna smiles warmly up at her, rests one hand on a knee, and peers up into her face. The action feels almost playful. 

“What do you need?” Fianna asks softly. Annie shakes her head, and Fianna nods, as if she understands. She takes one of Annie's hands gently and just holds it. 

“Why don't you try and get some sleep at least?” Fianna asks. “I'm right here.” 

Annie unfurls, lets her limbs go. She slides underneath the thin blanket the hospital has given her. She remembers, again, she is not water. She is a girl.

…

Fianna stays by with her a diligence that she hadn't before Annie had gone into the arena. (Which isn't to say that Fianna hadn't been a good mentor. She'd been patient and advised Annie. But things shift now in a way that Annie no longer has the words for.)

To be honest, she doesn't wonder too much over what drives Fianna. She just knows she needs her. She's the anchor in the hurricane of Annie's life. She's the one who Annie looks at when she's supposed to talk; she's the one who walks her from the hospital to Snow's office to styling appointments. She's the one who, when Annie is finally released from the hospital, Annie sleeps beside. She clings to Fianna, trying to get the nightmares to disappear. Fianna soothes her awake, makes her hot chocolate, keeps her preoccupied when she's too afraid to go asleep. 

Fianna keeps telling her they just need to get through the next part. They just need to get home.

(It's the first and only lie Fianna ever tells her.)

…

They do get home. Annie suddenly finds herself wandering the hallways of the empty, oversized house that she has been gifted. Her mom and dad move in, but Annie installs herself on another floor. She feels like she's being forced into a space where she no longer fits. Her parents try to talk to her at first, try to soothe away the nightmares that persist – but they do it in the way that would have helped old Annie, chased away monsters that didn't exist. Her new fears are built around monsters that do exist. She leaves her parents at a loss. 

Thankfully, Fianna is still there. Fianna draws her out of the hallways she's taken to haunting. She brings her into Fianna's house – the same, but with more people at least. Fianna has three brothers who take up a lot of room, create a lot of noise, but are respectful of Annie. With Fianna as a sister, they aren't cowed by a victor. 

Only then does she start to actually become aware of Fianna – as a person, not as an anchor. She's surprised, at first, to realize how _funny_ she actually is. (She's smart too, in a way that she tries to hide for some reason, which Annie doesn't understand.) As soon as they're back in Four, she gives up all of the dresses. She wears her hair up a lot, messy. She wears a lot of oversized T-shirts, jeans littered with holes in them. Mostly, she goes barefoot, even outside, but if she does wear shoes, they're most flip-flops. (Annie peers in her closet: There's not a single pair of spiked heels in there.)

Why the illusion? 

She doesn't ask. She doesn't press because she likes this Fianna Odair so much. She needs her. She doesn't care why the Capitol's Fianna Odair was invented.

They share Fianna's bed, because Annie can only sleep when Fianna is close. Fianna always falls asleep before her and she ends up watching her, because she can't help herself. There's something remarkably unguarded about her when she's sleeping. She looks younger without all the makeup her stylists usually put on her. She sleeps in T-shirts and shorts, and Annie can't help but understand, really, why everyone thinks she's one of the most beautiful women in the world. She wakes up with her face pressed into Fianna's shoulder. (She smells like sunshine – like summer days on the beach.) 

On the nights when the nightmares find her anyway, Fianna takes her down to the beach. They splash in the tide, giggling. (She had felt a passing worry that the ocean would have been tainted, but, no. The ocean is where she grew up. It's a warm and living thing, tastes different, feels different. It's nothing like the dank, destroying water in the arena.) 

(The most lovely part of Fianna? Her laughter. When she's really laughing. When she falls down after Annie splashes her right in the face.) 

She retreats to the beach as dawn approaches, a towel wrapped around her shoulders. Fianna goes for a proper swim and Annie watches her quietly, the neat lines of her body as she devotes herself to her task. She makes it look like the most natural thing in the world, and Annie can't help the swell of warmth in her stomach, that floods her veins.

Oh.

…

“I'm heading into the Capitol,” Fianna says one morning as she's combing out her hair in front of the mirror. She says this in a carefully controlled sort of way. It's supposed to sound casual. But Annie knows her too well by now.

It's a month before Annie's Victory Tour is set to begin.

“What?” 

Annie is still curled up in the blankets on the bed. She wishes that she could see Fianna's face properly. 

“Just for a week,” Fianna tacks on. She turns to look at Annie and smiles. Annie stares. She is missing something here, but she doesn't know what. Her brain scratches at what it could be, inches closer to the truth, but she doesn't press Fianna.

“All right,” she says.

…

The girls from the Career program come by just once, not long after Fianna has left. The silences are awkward. They stretch on.

(She wasn't supposed to go. She wasn't supposed to win. And the way she did win wasn't a credit to their district. They are embarrassed of her, the girl who couldn't stop shaking through her entire interview.

She wants to say that they don't know, that they weren't there. That their training isn't anything like what the games are in the arena. It isn't just knowing how to find water and how to build a fire. It isn't just knowing the best ways to cut into a body. It's something more than that. But Annie doesn't have the words to defend herself, so she just sits there, her hands useless against her lap. She listens to the swell of gossip around her.) 

Most of it is about Fianna. The world changes and, yet, stays exactly the same.

“I heard she's staying with Oriandra Slender,” one of the girls says in a faux hushed voice. 

“They've slept together,” another one adds. Hushed giggles all around. They dip their sugar cookies in tea to complement the taboo topic.

“What can do two women do together anyway?” the third girl asks. There's a hushed moment of embarrassment as they stray past the point where they usually stop. Annie looks up from her own cup of tea. (It's just mean gossip, she thinks. But is it? She knows the Fianna she's come to know is nothing like the persona they've all seen in public. Despite her new status as a victor, despite knowing the difficulties of this world, she still doesn't understand the need for such a strong pretense on Fianna's part.)

“She hasn't tried anything with you, has she, Annie?” The topic is turned neatly, the question, veiled as protection, is actually the real reason for the visit, Annie realizes. She and Fianna have started gossip in Four. Too close, some say. That Annie Cresta isn't quite right, they say. Won't let anyone near her but Fianna Odair, they say.

“No,” Annie answers. The answer is flat. She doesn't fake a smile for them.

…

She expects her Fianna to come back on that train. She doesn't. It's the Capitol's Fianna, who begins drilling her (gently) on how to behave on her tour. It's the Capitol's Fianna, who always seem to have a smear of glitter somewhere on her body no matter how many times she bathes. She shies away from roughhousing with her brothers. She makes sure not to get her hair wet when they go into the ocean.

Annie watches her and wonders, _who are you? Who am I giving my heart to_?

Fianna's stylist team is in charge of the Victory Tour. She sits, sullenly, in the chair as they do her makeup, work her hair in a frenzy. She watches as they work on Fianna, transforming her physically. She's overdone, made fantasy in flesh. She smiles, laughs, with the team. (And only then does Annie wonder how far Fianna's shapeshifting abilities stretch. Does she foster these sorts of connections with everyone? Does she slip into the skin of whoever someone needs most? Which face is the most real? Or is there nothing underneath all that beauty? A blank slate?

She wants to cry at that thought. Because she needs the girl who's been there for her these last few months to be real. To be genuinely real instead of some golem she's wished into being.)

Fianna's dress – gold, again, with blue trim to match Annie – is so sheer, so barely there, that Annie feels embarrassed just looking at her. So, she doesn't. She turns away.

If Fianna notices, she doesn't let Annie know. 

This plays out in district after district. Annie is always the first to leave her dinners and parties, retreating back to the train to scrub her face clean, to stare at the pale, plain girl in the mirror and wonder who she is and how she got here. She feels herself fading, becoming transparent. Fianna is always the last. She flirts with everyone. She touches everyone. She is radiant, the small sun of the entire world. 

(Annie is drowning. She isn't water. She's a girl.)

Fianna lingers so long at the raging party held in District Two that Annie falls asleep before Fianna comes back. She gets up in the middle of the night, stumbles into the bathroom that adjoins their room and is surprised when she realizes that Fianna is in the shower. 

Through the glass doors, she spies Fianna. (She wakes up, a jolt going up her spine.) 

She should go. She knows that. But she doesn't. She stares, because there's a blooming bruise, bright purple and black on Fianna's right hip. (Belatedly, she realizes that – and she flushes at this realization – that there is no hair in between Fianna's legs. She's had own legs waxed by the stylist team, but this sight is odder still to her. She can't help but wonder over why this was done. Fianna looks oddly vulnerable standing there under the spray, her head leaned against the tiles, as if she's too tired or drunk to stand up on her own.)

“How long are you going to stand there?” Fianna asks, her voice husky.

“I,” Annie squeaks. “I'm sorry.” She almost flees, but then, “Are you all right?” 

“It'll be gone by morning,” Fianna answers without looking at her. Annie doesn't know what she means, precisely. But she leaves her alone all the same.

By the time they arrive in the Capitol, Annie expects to be able to see through herself. What's left of her but the swathes of blue-green fabric they dress in her? The fake sand and pearls? She stands in the doorway after they finish with her and takes shuddering breaths, watches as her hands shake. (Do they ever stop?) 

Fianna surfaces behind her. She turns, surprised. No dress for her tonight. She wears a mockery of a suit – a jacket cut tight to her breasts and hips, no shirt underneath. The pants aren't pants at all but shorts, those long legs on display as well, towering heels strapped to her feet. They put her over a head above Annie. 

“I'll get you through this,” Fianna promises, reaching down to take her hand. It is a promise she has made so many times. But it hasn't been a lie so far. So Annie will continue to follow her.

The doors in front of them open. Fianna neatly lets go of her hand and ushers her inside. The applause around them is spattered, polite, but unenthusiastic. Annie doesn't care. Annie doesn't care about any of this, about the pageantry. All she cares about is the end of the night, about getting back on that train and heading home. She sits beside Fianna for the dinner, for the idle chatter. She stares at her food, listens but doesn't respond. The speeches are short (not much praise for a victor no one wanted). 

And then, a stumbling point. Dancing

Annie has completely forgotten that this is a thing. The tables are cleared, and she stands dumbly, aware that she'll be expected to start things off.

“I can't,” she tries to say to Fianna.

“Come on,” Fianna answers gently, pulling her out into the middle of the dance floor before Annie can stop her. Her heart thrums nervously. She feels as if she can't breathe. She's aware of everyone staring at them. (Seeing through her, she's sure. Seeing the truth.) Fianna seamlessly puts Annie into position, and Annie finally looks up at her, showing her fear. But Fianna is graceless as ever, utterly unafraid. She moves them both as the music cues up and Annie, numb, tries to keep up. For the first time in forever, the world falls away. There's only Fianna, looking radiant, looking golden. (The small sun of her world.)

It's only when the music comes to an end that Annie realizes they are no longer the only ones on the dance floor. Fianna is immediately claimed by another partner and she turns away from Annie, laughing, focused on another.

Annie retreats, her heart fleeting, her hands cold. 

She slips away from the main room, fleeing all of the people. She manages to find a small space, some place quiet, some place empty. She sits in the corner there, in her voluminous dress, and tries to wait the party out. 

She's startled when she hears the sound of approaching voices and then a small crowd enters the room. She pushes herself underneath the desk. There's no panel in the front, but someone would have to kneel to see her. She gets a good view of everyone's legs. 

She expects not to know anyone in the room even though the Capitol's elite had been introduced to her at dinner. But someone starts laughing and she recognizes that voice immediately. Fianna. Her heart skips a beat.

“Here you are, sweetheart,” someone says.

“Aren't you a peach,” Fianna answers. The entire room laughs. Annie watches a pair of legs retreat from the rest of the crowd. (Fianna's.) Fianna plants something in the middle of the room – and it takes Annie an additional moment to figure out what it is: a trident, prongs down, embedded in the floor now. 

Fianna, still in her high heels, delicately grabs the trident with one hand, one hip popped out. (Annie can see most of her, but not her face. She imagines that Fianna is smiling though, striking a pose, capturing the moment.) Fianna begins to twirl deftly around the trident, and then hooks one leg around it. 

It's only then that she figures out what is happening and looks hastily away, red climbing up her cheeks. (Her imagination runs away with her though, can't block out the idea of Fianna twirling about the pole of the trident, long legs wrapped neatly around it, moving with a dexterity that Annie can't ever hope to achieve.)

She peeks back out only when the room applauds. Fianna is down low, the pole of the trident in between her legs. (Lace black panties on display.) She is bent low enough that she sees Annie underneath the desk. They both look at each other for a moment, but then Fianna pops back up as if nothing has happened. 

The group congratulates Fianna on her performance and they leave the room. The trident is left sticking in the floor. Annie hides until their escort comes to find her. She heads back to the train.

…

It's two days before Annie even sees Fianna on the train. (At first, she thinks they've left without her, but their escort confirms that Fianna is on board.) She doesn't know if she wants to see Fianna. She doesn't know what to say. The more she tries to figure her out, the less she understands her. Is it time to admit that the Fianna she likes isn't one who exists? 

She tells herself it's time to give this up charade. (But the truth is she's scared to. What does she have left besides Fianna? Even if that's not the truth – does it matter if that's what she needs to survive?) 

She's in the middle of her own turmoil when she walks into breakfast and there Fianna is. Clad in only a silk blue and gold bathrobe, slathering a piece of toast with a honeyed butter spread. Fianna looks up at her and, for the first time, looks caught off guard.

“Morning,” she says through a mouthful of toast. 

Annie feels the impulse to run. But there's only so far she can run. So, she steadies herself and takes a seat across from Fianna. 

“There's eggs, too,” Fianna says, gesturing over her shoulder. “We could--”

“I don't,” Annie says, talking before she's sorted out her words. She shakes her head. “I don't want to pretend anymore, all right?”

“Sorry?” Fianna asks. Annie stares down at her hands.

“You're a lot of different people,” Annie says softly. “I don't know why that is. But I need one real thing in my life right now. And if you can't be it, that's okay.” She looks shyly up at Fianna. “But don't toy with me then.”

Fianna looks – and there's no other word for it – stricken. She pales, and there's no dazzling smile right now. 

“Is this about the other night?” Fianna asks, almost tentatively.

“No,” Annie answers, and then, “Well, yes. But not just the other night. A lot of things.” 

“I,” Fianna starts to say. She seems to be having trouble speaking. Annie waits.

“I didn't want to,” Fianna says, her words strained. She glances around the train as if she expects someone else to appear out of thin air. “Sometimes, I have to do things I don't want to. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you. Annie, I care about you a great deal.”

She wants to let herself believe those words. Really, she does. But she's cautious, because she's been hurt too much in the last year, and she can't let herself damaged anymore. Her mind might be in pieces, but it's still her responsibility to protect her heart.

“Someone … makes you do things?” Annie repeats slowly, making sure she's understanding Fianna correctly.

Fianna breathes out, hard, a nervous sort of sound that Annie's never heard from her before. She sits back in the chair and looks away from Annie. 

“Fianna,” Annie repeats. She's scared suddenly. She reaches across the table, grabs at Fianna's hand. “What are you made to do? Who's making you do these things?”

“I can't tell you,” Fianna says, pained. “It's dangerous to say.”

“I care about you too,” Annie presses. She squeezes Fianna's hand. Fianna looks back at her, surprised. She looks almost … shy, another expression she's never seen on Fianna Odair's face. The look is there for only an instant before it's whisked away, shuttered behind one of Fianna's masks.

“I just have extra responsibilities as a victor,” Fianna half mumbles, glancing down at her toast.

“Your responsibilities including stripping and sleeping with married women?” Annie says, more curtly than she had meant to. She doesn't think it's the truth when the words leave her lips. But Fianna looks up at her too quickly, something akin to fear in her eyes and oh, oh God, Annie realizes she's hit upon the truth by accident. The frivolous Capitol party girl is _the_ act, but not one of Fianna's choosing.

“I'm sorry,” Annie says, hushed, horrified. She's apologizing for flinging those words at Fianna, but also because she's sorry that Fianna's had to endure such things. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't look at me like that,” Fianna says sharply. She tugs her hand out from underneath Annie's and gets to her feet, toast abandoned. She starts to walk back toward her room. Annie is up in a second, pushing her chair back so abruptly that it clatters to the floor. She rushes after Fianna, wrapping her arms around her from behind. Fianna stiffens, but Annie doesn't pull away just yet. She rests the side of her head against Fianna's back.

“Please,” Annie says softly. “I see you. I need you.” 

Fianna remains so stiff in her arms that, for a moment, Annie is sure she's going to pull away. But then Fianna turns, ever so slowly. She looks down at Annie, takes a deep breath, and then leans in and kisses her gently. (A kiss that's barely there. But it changes everything. It changes them. 

From there, you might say, the rest is history.)

…

Annie wakes up curled against Fianna in their bed. She peeks up at Fianna, making sure she's still asleep. She's just come from a two-week-long stint in the Capitol and she always sleeps like the dead after that. Annie doesn't care. Annie just is glad that she's back. She might have gotten accustomed to these sojourns in their life, to Fianna's frequent coming and going, but that doesn't mean she'll ever like it. She'd always prefer that Fianna just stay here, with her. 

But she's back now, and that's all that matters. Annie will take care of her now, ease her back into the life she belongs to in Four. The rest of the day will be spent at the beach. Annie will make dinner when they come back – and she's picked up extra sugar so she can make dessert, indulge Fianna's sweet tooth.

She rests her head back against Fianna's shoulder, listens to her soft breathing. Without thinking about it, she slides her feet (always cold) against Fianna's calves.

“I feel that,” Fianna murmurs half asleep.

“No, you don't,” Annie answers with a smile. 

“You're a liar, Annie Cresta,” Fianna murmurs. She flops over in bed, squishing Annie back against the mattress. She squeaks out her protest.

“Do you feel that?” Fianna asks against her neck.

“Get off me!” Annie protests, laughing, trying in vain to push Fianna's dead weight off of her.

“I'm sorry,” Fianna answers, blowing a raspberry against her neck. “Did you just say, 'Get me off'?”

Annie knows well enough that there will be no sex this morning. She knows Fianna is playing, knows that this is more for her benefit than Annie's. Sometimes she needs to pretend that things are okay before they are. Annie lets her, because she knows that's part of her healing process. Still, she presses up, kisses Fianna gently. Fianna hums, pleased, slides their legs together again.

“I'll make you pancakes with chocolate chips for breakfast,” Annie murmurs against her mouth. Fianna moans on top of her. 

“That's what I thought,” Annie answers. She presses another kiss to Fianna's shoulder. “Go shower. Let me get up.” 

Fianna doesn't answer her, but rolls off her all the same, back into the cocoon of blankets. Annie doubts showering will happen, but she gets up anyway, heads down into the kitchen. By the time she has several pancakes made up, Fianna strolls downstairs. Fianna wraps herself around Annie from behind, watching with pointed interest as she finishes up the pancakes.

“What do you have planned for us today?” Fianna asks. 

“I was thinking a beach day might be nice,” Annie answers. Fianna murmurs her approval. 

“We should probably head back to Marl's for the announcement,” Fianna answers as she pulls away.

Annie, in the middle of flipping a pancake, drops it. It sits, sullenly, on the floor. She had forgotten. Honestly forgotten, in the flurry of Fianna being home, that the announcement for the Quarter Quell is tonight. She doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to remember that there will be yet another reason for Fianna to be dragged away from her.

“Ans,” Fianna says gently, swooping in to pick up the pancake and throw it out. 

“Can't we skip it?” Annie asks, desperately. “No one will know.” She knows that might not be the truth, but what difference does it make? Snow knows he has them both underneath his thumb. They can't escape. 

“All right,” Fianna allows, much to Annie's surprise. She's normally not one to bend any of the rules. (Belatedly, Annie wonders if this is because something particularly bad happened to her on the latest trip. But if that's the case, it's an even greater reason for them to skip out on the Quarter Quell announcement.) 

Which is how they end up on the beach while the rest of Four is in front of their screens. It's just them, the stars, and the stretch of the ocean. Fianna builds up a fire for them, and Annie sits in between her legs, Fianna's arms around her. Like this, she can pretend they're the last two people in the world, that it's not such a violent place. That they have a space to belong and be safe. 

It's a lie, because miles away, across all the airwaves, Snow whispers of their demise. He tells the world that one of them is going back into the arena.

…

“I want to run,” Annie begs.

But Fianna says no.

…

She puts on her pale green dress and shows up for the Reaping. She stares at herself in the mirror, sees only the dull dress and her flat hair. 

She's going to save Fianna. She tells herself this over and over. She's scared. The idea of dying terrifies her, but the truth is that she doesn't want to come back to a district without Fianna. So, she's decided she has to be the one who goes in out of the two of them. 

She frets as she stands on stage. She sways. She feels as if she's going to faint. Fianna is less than a foot away from her – close enough to touch, but they can't touch, not now. Not with every camera trained on them. Not when every eye in District Four is watching. Marl is Reaped – and no one volunteers. They all watch, ashen, as Marl makes his way across the stage, belatedly smiling at the two of them. Annie doesn't manage to smile back and can't look to see if Fianna did. 

Then the girls. 

Annie hears her own name called – 

“I volunteer as tribute!” Fianna says neatly beside her, one hand tossed up. (Annie tries to reach for her hand, tries to pull her back, because no, no, no, this is not what she had planned. Not what she had imagined every morning Fianna had gotten up at the break of dawn and trained, willing her body back into its survival mode.)

Fianna smiles, that thousand-watt smile that has made the entire country bow down at her, proclaim her their goddess. (But they have sacrificed her in turn, drinking down her holy blood with well-practiced gusto.)

District Four cheers. Annie weeps, sinks down onto the ground. (Their mad, mad victor.)

…

“Please,” Annie begs.

“Run if you have to,” Fianna whispers hurriedly. “I've left resources for you if you have to. Don't wait for me, Annie, all right? Just--”

The door opens. 

“Please,” Annie begs again, trying to get the words out: _Please come back to me_.

“I love you.”

And then she's gone, tugged out the door, thrust onto the train. (For the last time?)

…

(No, not for the last time.)

…

Annie shakes the entire flight to District Thirteen. They've explained to her where she is, where she's going. She doesn't know if she trusts these men, but it doesn't matter, does it? They're taking her away from Snow and all of his tricks. They're supposedly taking her back to Fianna. (Fianna. Her heart batters against her rib cage just at the thought of her. Fianna, who she watched tormented in the arena – tormented by her, thrown across the field by the lightning strike. Snow had told her personally that she was dead. That it was her fault. That she should have gone into the arena and died like she was supposed to so Fianna could have lived.

But if these men aren't lying to her – Fianna is fine. They're both alive. They've both slipped the noose. And _fuck_ Coriolanus Snow.)

The hovercraft lands and Annie is taken out, a nurse on either side of her, helping her down to the medical bay. She continues to shake in between them, her legs weak. They get out of the dirty clothes she's worn back from the Capitol, start to look her all over for wounds – but then –

Then there's a flash of golden hair in the doorway, and there she is. The sun of her world. Fianna Odair. Looking less dashing than normal with smeared black bruises underneath her eyes, her clothes a little bit baggy on her as if she's lost weight. But Annie doesn't care. Annie doesn't care at all, because as long as she's breathing and her heart beating, Annie will love her. 

“Fianna!” Annie cries before she can stop herself. She tears loose the cuff they've put on her, launches herself across the room. (She throws caution to the wind. No one is supposed to know about them. That is a rule inflicted on them by President Snow. And Fianna had warned her time and time again that the districts will probably not understand them. Same-sex relationships are something that exist in the realm of Capitol, not the rest of Panem.) 

“Annie,” Fianna breathes out, and then shouts her name in response. She rushes at her, envelops her. Annie clings to her, throws her arms around her neck, buries her face into her shoulder and breathes her in deep. 

She pulls back, bracing both her hands against the sides of Fianna's face so that she can inspect her. (Oh, she's hurting. She's been hurt so much, and Annie can see that.) She kisses her with obvious desperation, reminding her that she is loved, renewing her commitment to heal her. She tastes the same thing in Fianna's kiss. 

It doesn't take long for Thirteen to figure out they're together. As soon as Annie is released from medical, she plants herself at Fianna's side, makes herself an unmovable presence. They get plenty of odd looks, but Annie doesn't care. They've faced far worse. She isn't going to let strangers' opinions cow her now.

(The following conversation is passed from Katniss to Fianna to Annie: Apparently Plutarch Heavensbee had made a movement for Fianna and Annie to be allowed to get married in Thirteen, a sort of celebration to help improve morale. President Coin had flatly refused, saying she had no intention of celebrating the sort of depravity only the Capitol could stir up.)

Fianna rages over that, but Annie calms her down, kisses her quietly, reminds her they have more important things to worry about right now. (Inside, she is livid that their relationship has been compared to Fianna being sold all over the Capitol.)

Some sort of festival is made up instead. They attend all the same, although Fianna sulks. (This could have been their wedding, but Annie is grateful she's alive, grateful that she can hold her hand.) And she does cheer up, a little, at the sight of cake.

It comes as some surprise when, a little later, Fianna comes back to their quarters (two single small beds; they sleep together, most nights, on the floor) to tell her she's been selected for a mission. Annie drops the knitting she's holding, forgets what stitch she's on.

“What?” she asks, because this feels like the Quarter Quell announcement all over again. Fianna is going _back_ into danger.

“I'll be with Katniss,” Fianna reassures her, stroking her fingers through her hair. “That's the safest place in the world to be right now, right?”

Annie bites at her lower lip. She doesn't want Fianna to go. But she knows, quietly, that she's always known _this_ is really the kind of person who Fianna is. It would feel wrong to ask her to stay.

She gathers Fianna up by the front of her shirt (how does she manage to look so much better than the rest of them even when they're all wearing the same drab jumpsuit?) and kisses her soundly.

“Come back to me,” Annie murmurs.

“I promise,” Fianna answers, resting her forehead against Annie's. “I promise I will come back to you.”

“You better,” Annie says, rubbing her nose against Fianna's. “Otherwise, who am I going to marry?”

She expects Fianna to make some sort of joke, but instead she pulls back sharply and looks at Annie. There's a raw sort of surprise written on her features.

“You want to get married? To me?”

Annie backtracks, trying to figure out if she's said something wrong.

“Of course I do,” she says, squeezing Fianna's hand. “It's legal in the Capitol, right? We won't have any problems once we take it.” She pauses. “Unless you don't want to?”

“No,” Fianna says hastily. “No, no, no. Of course I do.” She kisses Annie – slowly, the way she knows Annie likes to be kissed, and her toes curl in pleasure. “No, I can't wait to marry you, Annie Cresta.”

“Make an honest girl out of me,” Annie teases.

“Make an honest girl out of you,” Fianna grins. 

“So come back,” Annie says softly, but seriously. “Come back and I'll marry you.”

…

“They're saying the whole team is dead.”

Annie covers her hands with her ears, dreams herself away. (She is water.) 

No. This is not how their story ends.

…

She is led through the Capitol hospital by four of Coin's men. The hospital, full of injured Capitolites, is probably the most locked-down building in the city, with the exception of wherever Coin is at any given time. 

But Annie has no mind for her own safety right now. She wants to run down the hall, wants to urge her guards to go faster. Somewhere in this hospital is Fianna Odair. Annie needs to be wherever she is. The guards lead her up to one door and then abandon her. Annie, fingers trembling, opens it. 

And then, there she is.

After weeks of mourning her, of believing her lost to Snow's monsters and the tunnels beneath the city, she's returned. Resurrected. She looks pale and small, lost in the thin sheets of the hospital. They've lopped off a great deal of her hair, and it's a little uneven on one side. There are bandages around one shoulder and across her entire torso. She looks as bad as Annie has ever seen her. (But she's alive. _Alive_.)

Fianna's eyes flutter before she manages to get them open.

“Annie,” she says hoarsely.

“Fianna,” Annie answers, and she can't stop the tears streaming down her face. She hurries around to the bed, doesn't bother with the chair. She climbs into the bed beside Fianna, being careful to mind her injuries. (She's afraid to touch her, really, but Fianna loops her arms around her, tugs her in close. She's shaking, which surprises Annie. She's never seen Fianna do this before. But even she knows how close it was this time. She presses kisses against Annie's face, to any inch of skin she can reach.)

“You're so beautiful,” Fianna keeps saying. Annie laughs through her tears.

“What happened?” she asks her.

“I came back,” Fianna answers. Kisses her again. “I came back for you.”

“You did,” Annie answers.

…

They're married the next day, before Fianna's even discharged from the hospital. Jo Mason serves as the witness to their little ceremony. It takes no more than five minutes – a few words from the priest, rings exchanged, their kiss, and then the papers signed. Annie gets brownies from the cafeteria with the promise that she'll buy Fianna real cake when they get home.

It's a few weeks more before Fianna is stable and then finished with her physical therapy. Her shoulder was a mess when they found her, ripped to shreds. The claw marks stretch across her torso, ending on the opposite hip. Both of her breasts are scarred, something she's more self-conscious about than Annie wishes she was. (But there's more healing to come for both of them, Annie knows that. And, eventually, Fianna could have these scars removed. The doctors wouldn't do it for now, afraid her heart couldn't take another surgery. But in time, she'll regain her strength – and if she erases these marks, that'll be her decision and nobody else's.)

Annie helps her dress on the morning she checks out of the hospital. She pulls the shirt into place and then begins to do the buttons up the front. Fianna idly traces one of the scars.

Annie leans in and kisses the edge of the raised scar gently, her eyes flitting up to Fianna's face. Fianna pauses and then smiles. 

“I love you,” Fianna says softly, twining their hands together. Their rings clink against each other.

“I love you too,” Annie says. “Are you ready to go home?”


End file.
